


That Fond Regard

by dedougal



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jensen Ackles is engaged as a tutor, he not only faces the challenges of an injured pupil and a strange grim house but also his pupil's father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Fond Regard

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to majestic_shriek for reading and cheerleading this on.

As the carriage turned into the driveway, finally, Jensen let his eyes take in the entirety of the house his anger had driven him to. A house far removed from the lights and diversions of any civilised city, even the nearest provincial town a good day’s ride away.

The conversation with his good friend replayed itself in his mind, as it had done often during his ten day long journey.

“There’s a rumour…” Kane began, eyes on the glass in his hand. Jensen knew that chances were good that this meant it was a rumour to do with him. However, curiosity won out and Jensen made a hmm noise as he sipped from his own glass. “About your dismissal from the Henderson household.”

Jensen let the wine settle in his stomach before looking up. “I wasn’t dismissed. I left.” The bluntness was unmannerly but all he could force out of his suddenly tight throat.

“I corrected the gossip as well as I could without revealing more of the matter.” Kane shifted in his seat, fixing Jensen with his firm blue gaze. “However, if I might make a suggestion?”

Jensen nodded, drinking his wine, and hoping that his face didn’t reveal the depths of his disquietude. From the softening in Kane’s tone, he wasn’t particularly successful.

“Find another position. Preferably one far away from New York. Let the gossip die down and some other scandal take everyone’s mind off to ridiculous flights of fancy.” Kane leant forward and laid a hand on Jensen’s leg. “You’ll be happier for it.”

“My happiness is immaterial. I do not… I do not want my mother to face these society gossips alone were I to flee.” Jensen tried to sound firm and resolute. The idea of getting away sounded more appealing the longer he thought about it.

“Your mother can handle the gossip. And she has your brother to support her. Your other option would be to marry and even a swift engagement would merely cause a further resurgence in the rumours. No, I feel discretion and retreat is in order here.” Kane had returned to his contemplative recline in the armchair.

They both listened to the fire crackle for an uncomfortable length of time.

“What are the rumours specifically?” Jensen dragged the uncomfortable words forth.

Kane snorted into his brandy. “That Mrs Henderson was more satisfied with your other talents and her cuckold of a husband couldn’t handle it.”

Jensen watched the fire start to diminish. It would require another log shortly but the embers seemed to be more representative of his state of mind at the moment. He snorted at the fancy. “I left because Mrs Henderson wasn’t happy with the additional services of the gardener, and the groom and set about pursuing me.” Jensen kept his voice soft. He wanted his friend to know the truth of it. Even the most unbelievable gossip had a way of creating doubt where none lay before. “She was not unattractive but it became unseemly and I felt it better to leave than to stay. The youngest was old enough for school anyway.”

Kane leaned forward and threw a log on the fire before replying. “I never thought there to be truth, Jensen. But thank you for telling me. It gives fire to my denials.”

Jensen knew that the smile that had appeared upon his face had neither pleasure or happiness in any measure.

The carriage once more bounced over a rut in the road, forcing him to grab at the seat in a most unseemly way. It was going to take him days for his spine to recover from this journey. And endless baths. He felt like all the grime of the road was ingrained in his skin. He knew that the impression he would make at first acquaintance would not be a completely positive one. He hoped that the letter of introduction would make up for that.

Mr Padalecki had unusually not been present at his hiring. In all of Jensen’s other positions, he’d at least met the father of his pupils before his services were engaged. Instead he met with a lawyer, a Mr Singer, who stared at him silently from behind his spectacles before nodding and scribbling a letter. Jensen supposed that it had something to do with the travel from the wilds of upstate. He certainly appreciated the distance with more respect after feeling every mile of the road.

Finally the carriage stopped and Jensen was able to finally break free from its confines. The house before him would best be described as solid. From its name, Jensen surmised that this place would be an elegant and graceful house, much like the ones he’d seen near Boston. Greenview Manor suggested sweeping lawns and elegant towers. Instead this house was nearly squatting in the landscape, a dour place to use that odd expression. It was so far from any towns or factories, yet the stone was near black. Stunted plants grew fitfully around the foundations, seemingly scared of climbing its grimy threatening stones.

Most of the windows were dark. Jensen hadn’t expected candles throughout the Manor but surely more of the house was used than just the front hall and a small room up on the third floor. Perhaps the house was lighter inside, although Jensen doubted that. Full dark had not yet fallen but the threatening rainclouds combined with the fact that the house lay in a dell of its own meant that night came here swiftly.

The coachman unloaded Jensen’s luggage – a trunk of clothes and a trunk of books – and Jensen clutched his satchel as he climbed the steps to the front door. He raised his hand to lift the knocker when it opened in his face. He smoothly transferred the movement to a lift of his hat to greet the woman standing in the doorway.

“You’ll be the new tutor then, eh?” She looked him up and down, taking in his road-worn appearance and the trunks behind him in the driveway. Her face was lined but with age not hardship or care. She patted his arm and spoke softly. “I think you’ll do.”

She rung a small hand bell beside the door and a boy, not more than twelve or thirteen, came to stand beside her. “Get Joe and take these up to the tutor’s rooms. I expect you’ll be hungry?”

It took Jensen a moment to realise she was speaking to him. He nodded and she drew him into the house. “I hope you don’t mind eating with the rest of us in the kitchen for now.”

Jensen shook his head and followed the woman into the dark of the house. He caught a glimpse of heavy polished staircases and dark carpets at the fringes of her light. There was the odd shine that could equally be a brass plate or ceramic vase. Jensen couldn’t see much though. No lights lit the interior despite his earlier supposition.

The kitchen was a shock after the darkness of the rest of the house. It was lit mainly by a huge fire that immediately brought warmth to a chill Jensen had become accustomed to after days in that drafty carriage. There were also lanterns around the wall. The woman led Jensen into a room he recognised as a servant’s hall. There were two men and a maid polishing cutlery at the far end of a long table, scrubbed near white after years of use. They started to their feet before the lady waved them down.

“This is the new tutor, Mr Ackles. He’s just got in and needs a bite to eat before facing the master.” The others murmured greetings, shy smiles welcoming enough. Jensen nodded politely, yielding his hat and coat when they were asked for. Soon enough he was seated with a pot of steaming coffee and some bread thick with butter and jam and he set to with an awoken appetite. The woman sat opposite him.

“I’m Mrs Smith, the housekeeper.” She sipped delicately at a cup of tea. “And you’re to feel welcome to come and join us here if that’s what you like. It gets lonely enough in this house without you feeling that you’ve got to keep with them upstairs. We’ve had tutors before that tried that and didn’t last a month.” Her eyes were sharp on Jensen. “That boy deserves someone to look after him proper.”

Jensen nodded, unsure. He knew he was in the oddest of positions: not an equal to the family but considered superior to the servants. His family’s sudden impoverishment may have required him to support himself but their ancestors were as proud as any. On the other hand, it could be lonely – he’d felt that in other, busier households and this one seemed quiet. Almost verging on too quiet.

Mrs Smith seemed satisfied and Jensen finished the rest of his meal to the accompaniment of the soft chatter of the others. Then it was time to meet the master of the house, one Mr Jared Padalecki.

 

The soft red carpet covering the stairs reduced the noise of his boots to mere whispers. Jensen tried to glimpse more than the frames of paintings and the bases of sculptures but it was impossible in the light of the single candle. He still appreciated the general size of the hallway but could not hope to make comment on its decoration. The gloom that had pervaded the house before true night fell seemed deeper now. Darkness invaded the house like a smothering blanket and Jensen felt like he might be lost in its heaviness.

They stopped at a doorway sealed with a firmly closed door. Regardless, Mrs Smith rapped on the door and a voice could be heard bidding them enter.

The library that lay beyond was slightly better lit, lamps on either side of the softly glowing fireplace enabling Jensen to see heavy drapes blocking any chill from the windows and shelves of glass covered books that rose against the other wall from the floor to the very ceiling. Jensen approved of such a library for all that he could not see the titles. The pile of books, including one lying open in the midst of reading, by the elbow of the man in the chair facing the fire seemed to suggest that they saw some use at least.

The man rose to his feet, seemed to loom tall against the fire, casting a shadow that stretched to the ceiling. He had to grab at the chair, seeming unsteady as Jensen walked across the carpet. A welcoming hand was outstretched when Jensen came nearer, a broad palm, soft as a gentleman’s should be. Jensen shook, slightly bemused by the fug of brandy that hung about the man. This would be his employer, Mr Padalecki, no doubt, and although Jensen held private opinions about the type of man who drank alone in his study, he would treat him as such.

“Mr Jensen Ackles, at your service.” Jensen inclined his head over their clasped hands, before straightening and trying to extricate himself. Mr Padalecki held fast, and Jensen was aware of being pinned under an even gaze. He used the excuse to look his fill in return. Padalecki was taller than him, with messy hair escaping from a que that might have been neatly tied back at some point in the day. His clothes were not the height of elegant fashion, but serviceable for all they were made of fine cloth. His face was what arrested Jensen, a broad mouth with laughter lines engraved in a such a way that suggested Mr Padalecki smiled often and fully. His mouth was still, uncomfortable in a thin line. Eyes that did not seem wholly taken by the demons of drink fixed on Jensen’s own face, sliding down to take in his mouth before rising once more. Finally, Jensen’s hand was freed.

Mr Padalecki nodded, sharply, once, before settling back into his chair and letting Jensen stand in wait. Jensen bit down the temptation to seat himself in the chair opposite and waiting for the inevitable invitation. Instead Padalecki picked up his book and gestured vaguely in the direction of the housekeeper. His only words were spoken in a dull, flat monotone. “I hope your journey was not too arduous. It is late. You’ll want your bed.” And with that he started reading again.

Jensen looked uncertainly between his new employer and the housekeeper, who was beginning to open the door and step out. Jensen let his gaze sweep across the figure of Mr Padalecki, who was patently not reading the book propped in his hands, and then turned to leave the room. Mrs Smith closed the door quietly then gestured Jensen down the hallway until they arrived at a set of carpeted stairs. Jensen followed her up past one landing and high into the house. The stairs remained carpeted, however, and Jensen knew he was not being led up the servant’s stair like he had been in the past.

Mrs Smith led him along a corridor decorated with paintings of what Jensen took to be local scenes, although the candle light didn’t allow for close examinations. A solid wooden door barred their way and Mrs Smith fumbled through a heavily laden key ring. She opened the door and Jensen followed her into a room that the candle struggled to cope with.

“The schoolroom, Mr Ackles. You and the young master’ll be spending a fair amount of time here.” Jensen could make out the shape of windows on the far wall at the very edges of the candle’s reach. A few shapes that might have been desks, a globe, slowly coalesced as his eyes adjusted. Mrs Smith was already moving on and Jensen had no other choice other than to follow her or be swallowed by the darkness. She opened a door at the far end of the room and Jensen was immediately struck by the heat of a roaring fire. “Ah, Annie managed to get the fire going in time.”

The cheerful blaze showed Jensen a room that looked well-appointed enough. The bed was a large one, heaped high with blankets. His luggage was neatly arranged at the food of the bed. Jensen felt more at ease than he had previously, smiling a little more freely at Mrs Smith now the chill was off his bones and he had evidence of her household’s obvious efficiency. With the warmth came a wave of exhaustion. Jensen had not done much beyond make polite conversation and sit uncomfortably for days. However the journey, the lack of sleep and the worry that had gnawed at him for weeks seemed to combine to make him sway slightly.

Mrs Smith turned to him with a knowing eye. “I think I’ll leave you to sleep, Mr Ackles.”

“Thank you, Mrs Smith. In the morning…” Jensen wasn’t quite sure how to ask to be woken.

“I’ll send in one of the boys to make up the fire. He can wake you.” Mrs Smith turned to brush her hand over the bedspread, removing invisible fluff. She seemed to want to say something else, but shook her head. “It’d be nice for you to breakfast with the young master. He’s not much in company in the morning.”

Jensen thought it over. In the past, he’d been in an uncomfortable position of eating alone – he wasn’t one of the staff but he wasn’t one of the family either. His lonely breakfasts in a variety of schoolrooms had been expected. This was new and startling. “Yes,” he blurted out. “Where should I go?”

“I’ll come and fetch you.” With that, Mrs Smith wished Jensen a good night and closed the door after him, leaving him alone. Exhaustion made undressing less careful than it probably should have been, a button being lost somewhere in the shadows of the room. Jensen couldn’t bring himself to care, enjoying being free of the strictures of his clothing. He remembered to blow out the candle and slipped into bed, letting the dance of the banked fire sooth him into dreamless slumber. His last thoughts were of the man who was his new employer but Jensen chased them away, trying not to dwell on the strength of the handshake or the height of the man. It wasn’t often that Jensen had to look up.

 

A rough hand shaking his shoulder startled Jensen out of his slumber. He pried his eyes apart to see a young man, smiling and entirely too awake for the morning, standing over him. “Sir?”

“I’m no sir,” Jensen muttered. “Ackles.”

“Yes, sir. Mrs Smith said to wake you.” Jensen nodded to show he understood and he scraped the last of the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Thank you…?” Jensen waited for the youth to add his name but was disappointed. The boy poked at the fire and shot Jensen a grin before heading out into the hallway again. Jensen lay against his pillow for a few more moments before hauling the sheets back and beginning his morning routine. The boy had opened the curtains a fraction and Jensen pushed them back fully, eager to see what kind of room he’d been placed in. He was arrested, however, by the sight outside his window.

His room was in the east of the house, facing the risen sun. He looked out over acres of pasture and woodland, parkland that still bore the wildness of moor and dell. Streams cut through the greenery, made rippling silver mercury by the sun glinting off the water. Simple beauty, completely unspoiled by statuary or gardener’s improvements. Jensen drank in the tranquillity, already planning long walks with his pupil.

The reminder of that forced him to return his attention to the room. An old-fashioned ewer and basin stood ready for him to wash. Jensen had a worry that this old house was completely without any modern conveniences, remembering the candle lit trek of the night before. He steeled himself to it. He could bear all things with patience and kindness.

He dressed quickly, not wanting to be caught unprepared when Mrs Smith came to fetch him. He was so perfunctory that he had time to sit and resume the study of a novel he’d brought with him. This reminded him of the library he’d met his new employer in last night. Jensen hoped that the master of the house would be agreeable to him investigating its treasures. The knock startled him a little of a daze half derived from fanciful day dreaming.

 

The little dining room was a heavy panelled room, with dark ominous furniture. Knocking a shin against one of the table legs would be sure to result in severe bruising. The tablecloth was snowy white, however, and the cutlery laid ready was polished to a high sheen. Mrs Smith pointed Jensen to one of the two places and filled his cup with coffee despite Jensen’s protests that he could serve himself. She left, no doubt to chivvy on the young master, and Jensen gratefully supped at the hot liquid. The room didn’t seem to have much of a view, being lower in the house than Jensen’s own room and peering out into trees and the hillside the house was built against. Jensen had the sudden urge to find out more about the history of the house. That would provide another intellectual diversion for him.

Jensen knew that his brain was supplying all these ideas as a way of stopping him mulling over both the problems he’d left behind in New York and the strange unanswered questions about the house that were pressing. Where, for example, was Mrs Padalecki? Jensen’s puzzlement about why the boy hadn’t been sent to school was answered when the door opened a moment later and the boy was shown in, leaning heavily on a stick.

The boy, James, his pupil, was slender and aiming towards the height of his father. He had a few years of growth in him yet though. His face bore a mostly cheerful cast, a wide mouth held in an expression of pleasure at seeing Jensen, although there was a slight hesitant politeness there too. The pain he must be suffering showed itself in the dark circles around his eyes and the paleness of his skin. He let Mrs Smith pull the heavy chair away from the table but scrabbled into it independently, revealing stubbornness to be an innate part of his character. Jensen hoped it manifested as perseverance rather than obstinacy.

“Good morning. I’m Jensen Ackles.” Jensen had stood when the boy came into the room but he let him settle himself before speaking.

The boy stared at him for a moment. “James Padalecki. Pleased to meet you.” The words tumbled out in a jumble and Jensen found himself smiling above all else. James had seemed genuine enough, if a little shy. He bore with patience the fussing of Mrs Smith as two plates were placed in front of them. It had been a long time since that repast in the kitchen last night and Jensen ate eagerly. James seemed to struggle a little with his appetite, pushing the food around with his fork.

“I am sorry that I did not meet you yesterday,” Jensen said, speaking as he would to one of his friends almost. “It was late when I arrived.”

“I was already in bed,” James said. “But I heard the coach. It was a… not so pleasant a day yesterday.” James’ hesitance made Jensen pause and look at him. He wondered what the boy meant but it was rude to enquire. Jensen made some polite conversation about the journey, talking about following in the footsteps of the earliest explorers up the Hudson river. The boy mostly listened, occasionally asking an eager question. Jensen was surprised by Mrs Smith and one of the other maids coming in to clear away the dishes. He’d ate his way through his plate and the boy had made a credible breakfast too. From the pleased look on Mrs Smith’s face, Jensen had to wonder how often that happened.

“The house is really interesting too,” James said, watching Jensen hand his empty cup to the maid with a smile. “It’s very old. It used to belong to Pilgrims.”

Jensen made a noise of interest and was about the suggest the boy give him a tour when he remembered the stick. The struggle to get free of the chair and onto his feet reminded Jensen of the infirmity, although the boy seemed to move more easily once he was onto his feet. Jensen had to wonder at the injury. It didn’t appear to be something he had been born with – the struggle to adapt to stick and doorway testified to that. Equally the rest of his faculties seemed typical of a boy his age. Jensen followed him out of the room, taking the chance offered by the boy’s slower pace to look around at the house.

It was dreadfully old fashioned. Jensen had been accustomed to mistresses decorating and redecorating in order to maintain a certain ambience in their homes. This house seemed happy to keep its dark wood panelling and painted walls. A not particularly pleasant mural of some distorted Italian landscape distressed the entrance but most of the walls were plain and clean. It suited the place, oddly, in a way that the latest trend for pastel stripes would not.

“This is the oldest part of the house.” James had stopped at the foot of the grand staircase that swept through the building, right to the roof. From his trip this morning, Jensen knew the school room was two floors up and to the right. He cast a sharp eye over his new charge who was trembling slightly. There was a wooden bench softened with a cushion bolder by the wall and Jensen settled himself on it.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” The boy looked at him and opened and closed his mouth. Then he sat beside Jensen and started pointing out the features of the room, original bricks with masons’ marks and places where old windows had been blocked up. The boy had an engaging way about him and Jensen found he enjoyed listening. He also couldn’t escape noticing the way the boy stuttered and shut down when his father started coming down the stairs.

Jensen rose to his feet to greet his employer, giving the boy a chance to arrange himself to standing. The daylight allowed him a better view of Padalecki. Unfortunately, the remembered height was there, as the man topped him by a good half foot. Jensen wasn’t used to being looked down upon and he wasn’t quite sure how it made him feel. His hair was neat now, tied back from his face in a style long out of fashion in the city. He suited it though, the length softening the rather severe lines of his cheekbones. The mouth he shared with his son, wide and generous, was held in a curiously stiff smile, fixed and disingenuous. Jensen also noted the broad width of his shoulders, although Padalecki stooped slightly, as if to make his strength and height less obvious to observers. He was obviously fit and fond of the outdoors, if the colour of his tan was anything to go by. This jarred somewhat with the obviously drunk man in the library last night.

“Mr Padalecki.” Jensen nodded, inclining his head in such a way that it could be a polite greeting or an aborted bow. Beside him, barely audible, James muttered, “Father.”

Padalecki looked between them, seemingly ill at ease. “Good morning.” Jensen expected him to say more but he disappeared into a room that Jensen hadn’t been introduced to. Jensen was desperate to ask the boy why his father acted in such a way but knew it was completely unacceptable not to mention impolite.

James looked recovered from his early shaking and appeared steady on his feet. “Shall we go to the school room? I have not yet set it up as I would like and I find that working with one’s pupil leads to the best effect.” James didn’t speak as he started his slow climb up the stairs. Jensen didn’t make conversation that would require James to make an effort to answer and followed at James’ pace. He was tempted to pick the boy up and carry him – he was surely strong enough – but felt their tentative acquaintance might suffer because of it.

Jensen paused at the first landing to fiddle with his shoelace and to let James catch his breath. He was about to continue when the ringing of a small bell was heard, chiming through the house.

“That’s Mama. She wants to see me.” Jensen smiled at the serious nature of the boy’s explanation. Again he wondered what the story was behind the odd behaviour and the boy’s injury. James seemed a little hesitant to answer the insistent ringing too.

“I can go up to the school room and you join me when you’re ready,” Jensen suggested gently. “Or I can come with you and wait.” James nodded at that, looking up at Jensen gratefully. Jensen followed his unsteady progress along the hallway. The floor was richly carpeted in deep red and swallowed both the shuffle of James’ feet and Jensen’s more confident footsteps. A maid stood outside a half-open door at the end of the corridor and she gestured smilingly for James to head straight in. Jensen returned her puzzled frown with a half-smile and took a seat on a chair that seemed to be destined for this purpose in the hall. He let his eyes drift to the nearby painting – a scene of Boston from Bunker Hill – and readied himself to wait. The maid vanished back inside and Jensen was surprised when the door opened once more and she beckoned him inside.

“The mistress wants to meet you,” she said, brusque in the way that all ladies’ maids tended to be, feeling themselves better than the other servants. She wasn’t unkind with it, though, just used to her instructions being accompanied by the unspoken suggestion that they were the mistress’ own requests.

Jensen brushed at his coat to make sure it sat straight before following the woman into the room.

 

Mrs Padalecki was not in bed but she might as well have been. She lay in state, nearly, on a day bed too large to be called a chaise lounge. She wore a dressing gown buttoned up high and most of her body was covered in a rug. Her hair was neatly pinned back but her eyes were dull with dark shadows like her son’s surrounding them. Her hand was birdlike when she stretched it out to greet Jensen. He bent over it, shocked at its papery feel.

“Mr Jensen Ackles, at your service, ma’am.” James was sitting on a footstool and smiled at Jensen’s gallantry. He looked relaxed here which told Jensen that he spent a lot of his day here. Between his own injuries and Mrs Padalecki’s obvious illness, Jensen was able to hazard a guess at most of the reasons why James wasn’t at school and why he had been engaged. “James was telling me all about the history of your beautiful home.”

“It’s a dreadful old pile,” Mrs Padalecki said, a faint teasing smile appearing on her face. She had been beautiful, once, Jensen realised. Her petite figure and dark hair and eyes would have made her a real centrepiece at any society event. Illness had taken the bloom off the rose, no matter its cause. “Sometimes living in the city would be so much more convenient.”

Jensen nodded, agreeing. “New York has its attractions.” Privately he hid his delight at being so far away from the blasted place. “The museums…”

“The shops,” Mrs Padalecki corrected, humour in her face. However the moment of lightness was disrupted by a sudden coughing fit. Jensen looked politely to the side as she was wracked by coughs that shook her whole body. Despite the handkerchief at her mouth, he could see the froth of blood on her lips. Consumption, then, he presumed. Or something similar.

James had struggled to his own feet, swaying as he held out an impotent hand to his mother. When he looked ready to topple to the floor, Jensen reached out to hold him upright and let him get his balance. Once James was more stable, Jensen was able to reach out and wordlessly hand James the stick. James tried to look defiant at needing help but mainly looked frustrated and not a little humiliated at needing help.

“We need to get started with our lessons, ma’am.” Jensen nodded and withdrew from the room. He waited a few moments and James followed him, shutting the door carefully and quietly.

“Mama is going to have a rest now. Allie says she’ll come if I’m needed.” His face was serious again, worried. Jensen clapped him on the shoulder.

“That sounds good. Let’s go up to the school room so they know where to come for you.” Jensen always believed that the best way to distract children was to come up with a firm plan. It worked for mischief and he hoped it would work to distract James from his maudlin concern. Maybe Mrs Padalecki’s illness explained Mr Padalecki’s distant behaviour too.

 

James was exhausted by the time they reached the school room and Jensen let him sit at the desk and read out loud while he bustled around the room. Jensen had picked up a new translation of Caesar’s Gallic Wars and the vivid descriptions of battles long fought seemed to keep James suitably entertained, his reading fluent and excited. Jensen unpacked his other books, settling them on an empty shelf, fussing until they were in the order he needed. His book of maps was a suitable addition to the rather attractive if out of date globe that rested on a polished sideboard. Slates and chalk and paper and ink found space in the ample drawers of the desk and Jensen laid his own blotter and correspondence case on top while Caesar dealt with the theft of his eagle.

It was nearing lunchtime by the time Jensen had everything arranged to his satisfaction. A soft knock at the door heralded a lunch tray, carried in by the youth who had woken Jensen in the morning. James’ pallor was still wan and Jensen didn’t much care for traipsing all the way back to the dining room. Instead the boy placed the tray in front of James and fussed with the arrangement of the cups and plates.

“Thank you…” Jensen again trailed off, unable to remember if he knew the boy’s name.

“Jacob, sir.” The boy poured a strong cup of coffee into one of the cup and offered it to James. “Here you go, Jamie. Make you ready for some learning.” Jensen smiled at the obvious care he was showing the younger boy.

Jensen came to collect his own offered cup and hooked a chair with his foot and sat down beside James. Informality seemed the order of the day for this. Outside the window, the sun broke through the clouds and the room started to look a little lived in, pleasant. Jacob headed out, hand raised half in a wave and half in a salute. “Mrs Smith said to ring and she’ll come get the tray later.” He pointed to a button beside the fireplace before closing the door.

“Your house is very well appointed,” Jensen said. Beside him, James sighed.

“I don’t want to be here. I want to be at school.” The boy sounded a little petulant and Jensen was surprised at his sudden change in mood. He’d presumed James to be a cheerful boy but something was obviously weighing on his mind. James obviously remembered his manners then. “Not that I don’t mind you being here.”

“It is not the same as the company of boys your own age,” Jensen suggested, remembering the secrets and passions of his own school chums. The mischiefs they’d got up to. He smiled. “I remember the time one of my friends kept a pet squirrel in the dorms. We were all in the most dreadful trouble when it decided to invade the masters’ study.”

The boy grinned before sobering again. “My leg… And Mama.” Jensen desperately wanted to pry but restrained himself. He’d find out more in time. Maybe Mrs Smith could be persuaded to give him some information. Then James shook his head and applied himself to the thick sandwiches in front of him.

Jensen rang the bell once they’d finished and settled in for an afternoon of testing James’ mathematics. As expected, they were not as far advanced as his enjoyable reading of the bloodthirsty Caesar. Jensen shook his head at the mangled sums but smiled. He and James would go far.

 

Later in the day, after he had dismissed James and spent some time composing the start of a letter to Kane, outlining the terrors of his journey, he was surprised by a soft knock at the door. Padalecki stood there, hunched shoulders betraying his nerves. Jensen shuffled to his feet, ungracefully, feeling out of place inviting the man into a room in his own house.

Padalecki looked somehow better now, less stern. He straightened his shoulders as he came into the room and Jensen was aware of how broad those shoulders were, speaking of a man used to some form of exercise. Perhaps he had been in the army. His face no longer held the tinge of grey from the morning, livened somewhat by the flush of red in his cheeks. From the state of his hair, Jensen surmised he’d been riding. It made him feel a little angry, that Padalecki would abandon his son indoors and enjoy the sunshine, but Jensen chided himself for his pettiness.

“Is everything to your- I’m sorry. I wasn’t myself this morning. Don’t do mornings.” The words tumbled out one on top of the other. Jensen waited for Padalecki to get himself under control. “I apologise for not greeting you properly this morning.”

“No insult taken,” Jensen assured him and waited for the next question. He waited in vain as Padalecki wandered across the room, looking out at the late afternoon sunset. Jensen watched him, watched the way the sun highlighted the gold in his hair and the fine arch of his cheekbones. He felt a low thrum in the pit of his stomach and the associated shame it brought made him return to his desk and fuss with the papers there.

“And James? His education has been neglected of late. He was ill after his accident.” Padalecki spoke to the window but Jensen could determine a definite note of concern in his voice.

“His mathematics need some work, as most small boys’ mathematics do. But he seems eager to learn.” Jensen didn’t miss the way a proud smile spread across Padalecki’s face. “He seemed to miss school.”

“Yes. Well.” For a moment Jensen wondered if Padalecki would storm out of the room at that gentle comment. But instead Padalecki turned, leaned back against the windowsill in a way that bespoke complete familiarity with the room. He must have used it as a boy. “Perhaps some of his school friends will visit during the summer. If Mrs Padalecki is able.” There was doubt there. Jensen also noted the certain lack of concern he would expect from a husband towards his wife. Indeed, Padalecki’s tone could almost be described as frosty.

Jensen opened his mouth to ask a question he knew was impertinent but he shut it before the words could slip out. Padalecki seemed to understand. “Mrs Padalecki has not been well since Jamie was born. Indeed, such a performance is made out of being ill that I can scare remember the girl I married. She seemed gleeful when James was thrown from the tree and broke his leg if it meant he would have to stay by her side.” There was a definite bitterness now. “It didn’t matter that her son near died from fever.”

Jensen felt a lurch of sympathy for the man. He obviously cared about the boy. He was taken aback, however, at the looseness of Padalecki’s tongue. He might hold opinions but it would be completely impolite to air them to near strangers. Padalecki seemed to remember this, looking somewhat guilty.

“It has been some time since my own friends were able to visit me.” Padalecki kept his tone even. “And I have quite forgotten my manners. Will you dine with us tonight?”

Jensen nodded. “Certainly.”

“And you can bring news from the outside. Sometimes I quite forget that the world still turns outside the confines of this house.” With that enigmatic statement, Padalecki strode from the room. Jensen caught himself watching him go, admiring the cut of his coat. He blushed, alone in the room, and pressed his hands to his cheeks.

 

Dinner was the stilted affair Jensen had worried it might be. James looked to be subdued by the mere presence of his father, although Jensen did make an attempt to involve James, mainly by asking questions about the people and places in the news. He might be days out of date but this isolated house seemed years gone. It was when he moved onto the history of the places in the mentioned most frequently in the news of the day that both Padalecki senior and younger perked up, finally displaying enthusiasm.

The food was hot, the wine was good and after all the stresses of the day, Jensen had to stifle yawns at the end of the meal. James, amusingly, was in no better state, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Will you see your mama before you head to bed?” Padalecki asked, tone wistful. He’d drunk the lion’s share of the alcohol and was now sipping on a brandy. James nodded, struggling out of his seat and waiting patiently by his father’s chair. Padalecki dipped down and hugged the boy, cradling him like a bloom he was afraid of crushing. Then Jensen watched as James made his slow way out of the room.

The dining room was not the room they’d eaten in that morning but an altogether grander affair on the first floor of the house. Night had fallen – Spring was not yet far advanced – by the time they’d made it to the meal but the grand windows lined with moss green curtains seemed to hint at a view to be enjoyed. Jensen tried to not appear to watch the play of candlelight on Padalecki’s face. The light made him younger, less angry. It caught the glisten of perspiration in the hollow of his neck where he’d undone his cravat. Jensen jerked his eyes back to his own wineglass, the easy conversation of earlier forgotten.

“I’ll be going to bed too.” Padalecki looked over, seemingly realising Jensen was still there. He looked wistful for a moment before nodding.

“Goodnight then.” And then he grabbed his glass of brandy and left the room, leaving Jensen adrift.

 

That set the pattern for the days to come. Breakfast with James remained a pleasure, as did distracting him after his daily visit to his mother. Dinner at night remained cold no matter the effort Mrs Smith put into the menu, and Jensen was often aware of an uncomfortable level of scrutiny from Padalecki, whose eyes seemed to bore into his innermost thoughts. Jensen worked hard to keep his thoughts as pure as he could around the man, but it was proving near impossible. His subconscious had no such restraint, fuelling Jensen’s dreams with heat and passion, the like of which he’d not experienced since the rather unfortunate affair at University. Jensen woke sweat slicked, hard and aching. His denial of pleasure for himself was his own peculiar form of penance.

The weekends disrupted the pattern, with James spending his day with his mother and Jensen alone to pursue his own interests. The weather remained cold, wet and blustery over the first few weeks of his residence in the Padalecki household and he spread his time between the warmth of the servant’s hall, discussing all manner of inconsequential goings on and the comfort of his own room. He caught up on his correspondence, writing long and detailed letters to his mother, his sister and Kane. The ones he received in return were equally full of news and stories of the city. Jensen sometimes felt a pang of loneliness when he opened them, a certain regret for leaving the town. On the other hand, he revelled in the peace of the countryside. Sunday drew him to church with the family before a heavy meal that required rest and a restorative nap. James seemed quietest on a Sunday, after a day spent entirely with his mother, and Jensen began spending the evening playing board games before the fire in James’ own room, a welcome and restful occupation.

The first fine Saturday in weeks finally drew Jensen out into the landscape he glimpsed every morning from his window. The weather still tended towards cold – a nip of frost in the air made his breath catch in his lungs – but he bundled himself up in a scarf and gloves, fixed his hat firmly on his head and set out. The distances surprised him. The house had dwindled into a spot on the horizon before Jensen reached the stream he’d spied that morning. He was also ashamed to admit that he was out of breath, having spent too long enjoying the comforts of the house. Jensen resolved to himself to force himself outside for exercise no matter the weather.

He lowered himself to sit on a boulder that was mostly moss free. As his breath slowed and the sounds of his pulse retreated from his ears, he became aware of the birds his presence must have disturbed calling to each other, first in alarm and then in reassurance when Jensen didn’t make any threatening movements. He smiled as the bolder species hopped to the ground nearby, perhaps seeing if he had any crumbs to offer. Jensen resolved to beg a heel of stale crust for his next walk. Once more he regretted that James’ injury kept him housebound. James would delight in feeding the birds, identifying their species and kind. He had a fascination with small creatures judging by the number of times a lesson was stopped by a fascinating insect.

Jensen’s musings were interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats and he propelled himself out of his inelegant sprawl and dusted off his coat. He was just in time. Padalecki trotted around the corner mounted on a horse whose magnificent height would be needed to hold up such a tall man. The horse showed all the signs of a caring owner, coat brushed to a glossy black sheen, mane neat and untangled despite the fact both horse and rider had been moving at a regular clip across the countryside.

Padalecki drew up beside him and Jensen took the opportunity to offer his hand to the horse to sniff.

“Be car…” Padalecki began. Jensen stroked gently along the muzzle. He’d always liked horses. With his free hand he dug in his pocket for the apple he’d purloined from the bowl in the kitchen before heading out. It was a winter worn and wrinkled thing but Padalecki nodded when Jensen held it up and the animal crunched it happily while Jensen kept up the soft stroking movement.

“He’s a beautiful animal,” Jensen said. Padalecki let out a snort.

“He’s a vicious brute. He likes to bite, which is why I tried to warn you.” Padalecki didn’t looked annoyed at Jensen’s presumption. Instead he threw the reins down and Jensen steadied the horse as he dismounted. “His name’s Eric.”

Jensen muffled a snort at the name and finished his bonding with the horse. He handed the reins back to Padalecki and fell into step alongside him, enjoying the feel of the sun through the broken clouds. “I take it James had something to do with that.”

“Vikings. He liked Vikings at the time.” Padalecki didn’t sound at all angry, more amused. He almost seemed to admire his son’s passion. Then a shadow passed across his face. “Genevieve used to encourage his passions.” His voice was quiet, private. Jensen wasn’t certain he was supposed to hear that.

“James seems to enjoy history when it involves blood. He was most eager to study the Roman invasion of Britain.” Jensen kept his voice light. Padalecki shot him a sharp look before nodding, grateful for the change of subject. “He does not seem to think that Mathematics requires quite the same level of study.”

“Much as myself,” Padalecki ruefully said. The horse let out a shuddering sigh as if in agreement and startled a laugh out of Padalecki and Jensen both. He was drawn by the warm sound, startled by the ease with which Padalecki let out the sound. He hadn’t seen the man smile, let alone heard him laugh. With the sound, Jensen caught a glimpse of the man Padalecki must have been before the strains of the family troubles had swept over him. The joy on Padalecki’s face made his blood burn. Jensen turned away, looking at the path, praying his cheeks would reflect only the heat of the sun.

They were nearing the house. Jensen started to walk towards the kitchen door when Padalecki put his hand on his shoulder and stopped him. “Do you want to come and see the stable?”

Jensen was startled but the need for adult company won out over the need to return to his correspondence. This, at least, would give him something else to slip into his letters.

The stable block was at the back of the house, a little way away from the main building across a neatly cobbled yard. The yard was scrubbed clean of moss and weeds and the doors to the stables were painted a fresh rich green. Jensen appreciated that care of the surroundings probably spoke well for the care of the horses within. He wasn’t disappointed. Padalecki led Eric himself, waving away the man who came out of the building at right angles. He didn’t seem put out, raising a hand in welcome to Jensen.

Jensen followed Padalecki into the shady interior, breathing in the welcoming scents of hay and horse. Heads hung over stall doors, all looking eager to see Padalecki. He used his free hand to rub noses as he brought Eric over to the water butt and hooked his reins over the post. Jensen leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets, and watched as Padalecki unbuckled the horse’s saddle and drew it off carefully, placing it over a saddle horse and picking up a brush to start smoothing along Eric’s sides. The horse finished its drink and looked over his shoulder to whicker softly at Padalecki. Jensen laughed at the way the man batted irritably at the horse’s head before Padalecki turned his mock annoyance on him.

“Look at you, standing with your hands in your pockets like a loutish school boy.” Jensen pulled his hands out and stood tall. “Help me out? Grab some hay for this pest? If you’re able.” Padalecki gestured with his head towards the pile of hay neat as could be in the far corner. A fork was thrust in the pile and Jensen stripped off his coat and loosened his neck tie before striding over to grab the fork. He’d show Padalecki he was no lily-livered academic. Even so, he took a few moments to get used to the strain on muscles he hadn’t used for too long before settling into a comfortable rhythm.

Padalecki didn’t stop brushing and murmuring to the horse as Jensen forked over a couple of loads of hay into the manger in front of him. The other horses made interested noises and Jensen looked at Padalecki to see if they needed feeding too. Padalecki was watching him with a strange unreadable expression but he nodded, a moment after Jensen had gestured with the fork at the other horses. He bent to the work as Padalecki finished brushing Eric down and reversed him into his stall. The horse seemed to look longingly at Jensen as he forked the hay into the mangers arranged at the front of the stalls and Jensen was powerless to resist those eyes. He finally thrust the fork back into the diminished pile of hay, breathing a little heavier than he liked. He renewed his resolution to walk more, build up some stamina again.

Padalecki came up behind him, a warm presence against his back. Jensen was glad the man couldn’t see his face when he felt the searing warmth of his hand through the thin material of his shirt. Jensen leaned back into the touch before he was even aware of what he was doing. Padalecki used the touch to point him at the munching horses. “Pepper. Dottie. Fumble. And Eric. And then there’s Jock and Hamish. But they’re out in the fields today.” Padalecki leaned closer to point at the empty stalls on the far side of Eric.

Jensen turned within the circle of Padalecki’s arms without really thinking the action through. Padalecki’s lips were at his eye level and Jensen had to drag his eyes upwards to look Padalecki in the eyes. They were standing close. Too close really. Padalecki was looking at him, looking at his lips in a way that bespoke hunger. With the barest of warnings, Padalecki’s hand closed on Jensen’s shoulder again and he was pressed back against the divider between two of the stalls. Jensen knew his breathing was speeding up, harder and faster than before. Padalecki came closer, filling all of Jensen’s senses, before placing a hard and demanding kiss on his lips.

The touch of Padalecki’s mouth seemed to set off a wildfire within Jensen. He pressed up towards the firm warmth of his body, seeking a touch he knew he should not want. Padalecki seemed eager too, tongue demanding entrance, hand pulling at Jensen’s shirt to bare skin, rough fingertips seeking to smooth the skin of Jensen’s back. Jensen parted his lips eagerly, his own hands pulling Padalecki close to feel the weight of his body. Jensen gave in to the shiver that traced up his spine as Padalecki leaned his weight in. Jensen couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe hardly as he realised that his body was betraying him utterly, his cock filling rapidly against the hardness of Padalecki’s thigh.

Suddenly that warmth was wrenched away. Padalecki flung himself back against the far wall, ignoring the soft concerned noises from his horses. Jensen soothed the burn in his lips with his tongue, unable to miss the way Padalecki’s eyes fixed on the tiny movement.

“I should…” Jensen began.

“The house-“ Padalecki interrupted him. The clattering of buckets against the cobbles outside brought them back to reality. Jensen grabbed his coat, shoving his arms in the sleeves and splashed water on to his hot cheeks. Padalecki watched, eyes dark for a moment, before he seemed to realise what had happened. A look of deep shame burned onto his face and Jensen nodded, curtly, as he took his farewell.

 

Jensen made it through the house without meeting anyone else. He not only shut the door to his room but locked it. Then he dragged the chair from the desk over under the doorknob for an additional block. His skin seemed to be on fire and he pulled off his coat, his neck tie, his shirt. He was bending to unfasten his shoes when the whole affair caught up with him. Jensen slid to the floor and buried his head in his hands.

He’d finally done what he’d always managed to avoid. He’d become entangled with one of the parents of his charge. No matter the offers before, Jensen had always managed to keep himself free from scandal no matter what the rumours said. His virtue might not have been entirely unsullied but he’d always been certain of the unattached nature of the men he’d been involved with. All men. The women who had thrown themselves at him, whether whores or at his mother’s more elegant soirees had never given him any stir of interest. Not like the square jaw of a man, the brush of stubble on his cheek. The firm planes of his chest in direct contrast to the soft doughy curves of a female. None of that mattered now.

Now he had to work out how to explain to James that he was abandoning him. He had to explain to Kane and to his mother and sister why he was leaving yet another position within so short a period of time. He had to make arrangements for the long journey back to New York. The half-finished letters on his desk seemed to mock him, pointing out all his faults.

Maybe going home was the wrong decision. Jensen was so far north already. He could take the pay he had no doubt Padalecki was depositing with his banker and travel to Canada. Maybe he should flee to Boston and take ship in that vast port. Running away seemed a more attractive option than returning to the dark judging eyes of his mother. He finished unfastening his shoes, pulling off his socks. The sweat was cooling on his body, making him shiver. He could pretend illness quite convincingly, he thought, catching sight of his flushed skin, his dishevelled hair in the mirror above his dresser.

Knocking at the door pulled him out of his slump. He leaned up against the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Padalecki. Can we talk?” Jensen looked around the room, panicking at the thought. He shouldn’t be alone with the man again. “I just wanted to apologise.”

Jensen leaned against the door. He could hear Padalecki on the other side, breathing unevenly. Cursing every movement, Jensen moved the chair and slowly unlocked the door.

Padalecki looked no calmer than Jensen felt, chest heaving as if he had run up all the stairs leading to the school room. Jensen drank in his appearance, suddenly realising to himself that there was no way he could tear himself away from this man, this house. Not yet. Padalecki seemed to feel similarly as he shouldered his way into the room and kicked the door closed behind him. Jensen was in his arms in the next instant, lips once more pressed to Jared’s. This time he allowed his hands to roam, pulling at coat and shirt in a frenzy.

Padalecki’s hands were no less hurried, rubbing up and down Jensen’s naked back, dipping below the waistband of his trousers, rubbing his ass. Jensen arched into the touch, every desire he’d suppressed since he’d taken in Padalecki’s height that day in the library. For all his distance and the air of hardened sadness, Jensen knew he wanted to feel that skin under his mouth. He wanted to feel Padalecki’s body pressing him into the mattress. Jensen gave in to the urge, drawing Padalecki back towards the bed.

Padalecki came easily, following the lure of Jensen’s naked skin, mouth busy on his cheek, his jawline, his neck. Jensen knew he looked ridiculous, bulge of his cock pushing against the fastenings of his pants. He fumbled them open, sighing in relief. Padalecki was still clothed, seemingly forgetting to remove any more clothing in the way he leaned forward to cover Jensen’s body with his own, trail kisses down Jensen’s chest before kneeling down and wrapping his mouth around Jensen’s arousal.

Jensen pushed at the cloth still covering Padalecki’s shoulders and suddenly moaned when the hot wet heat of Padalecki’s mouth vanished. It was worth it to watch Padalecki strip off his own clothing, his eyes drinking in Jensen’s near nakedness. Jensen fisted his cock in return, using the moisture from Padalecki’s mouth to slick his way. That made Padalecki tangle his arms in his sleeves, forgetting to unfasten buttons that popped and spun across the rug to hide themselves under the dresser and wardrobe. Then it was Jensen’s turn to kneel up and run his hands over Padalecki’s exposed chest, stroking his palms over defined muscles, firm planes and a taut stomach. That led inevitably to mouths meeting in another battle that Jensen let himself be defeated in.

“We should- Padalecki-“ Jensen found it hard to complete his thoughts, with the way his body was being turned against him.

“Jared. I need you to call me Jared.” The words were panted against his ear and Jensen writhed under the feeling of that hot heat. He rolled his hips up and was gratified to finally feel the silken hardness of Padalecki – no, Jared’s – cock against his. The low groan that spilled from Jared’s mouth showed he felt just the same.

Jensen finished shucking the remainder of his clothing, wriggling under the weight of Jared’s body. Naked and exposed, he lay panting on his bed. All the reasons why he should not do this seemed to vanish under Jared’s heated gaze. Jensen knew what he wanted and he was willing to give it. He kissed Jared, once, hard, before rolling him to the side and clambering off the bed. Jared looked confused, a little hurt, until Jensen turned back with a small pot in his hand. The salve was something obtained through a network of contacts that Jensen occasionally dipped into for the sake of convenience as much as anything.

It had been some time since Jensen had used the salve but it opened smoothly. “Do you…? Should I…?”

Jared looked confused. Jensen returned to the bed, stretching out beside him on the narrow mattress and parted his thighs. Jared’s eyes dipped to the place revealed by the movement and he stroked his hand along Jensen’s thigh.

“I’ve not… Quite taken it this far before.” Jared sounded wondering, amazed. His fingertips, dry and calloused, skated over Jensen’s hole. Jensen couldn’t hold back a shuddering gasp at the touch. He offered to salve to Jared who coated his fingers liberally before diving back down, pressing in urgently. Jensen caught some of the urgency, pushing himself down onto the long, slender invaders, knowing and hoping that he’d be ready to take the cock that lay heavy against Jared’s rippling stomach. He arched back against his pillows when Jared fumbled him fingers across that place inside that made this wonderful.

“Did I hurt you?” The loss of fingers made Jensen keen. He shook his head urgently, pulling Jared closer to kiss him, hard. Possessively hard.

“I need you to- You have to-“ Jensen couldn’t quite say it. Jared seemed willing enough though. He knelt back on his heels and pulled at Jensen until he was up on his hands and knees, arranged to Jared’s satisfaction. Jensen felt a burn of humiliation. He knew he would enjoy being taken this way. He just felt exposed and bare and filthy like this. The press of Jared’s cock at his entrance intensified the feeling. Slowly, almost too slowly, Jared pressed into him. Jensen’s body was almost too tight to accommodate the girth of Jared’s heavy cock and the stretch was overwhelming at first. Then Jensen began to ease. Jared bent over, breath hot on Jensen’s neck, and worked a hand underneath them, stroking Jensen’s needy cock.

That was when it became pure unadulterated pleasure. Even the pain was welcome as Jensen thrust back and then forward into the tight tunnel of Jared’s hand. Jared picked up the rhythm, thrusting shallowly to start with, then deep, driving, rolling thrusts that Jensen felt all the way through his body. Jared’s strength should have been a terrifying thing, as the sheer fucking became harder but Jensen merely planted his hands more firmly, spread his knees and took it. No, he didn’t just take it. He relished it. The harsh sound of Jared’s breathing and the shocked gasps his thrusts were driving out of Jensen were the only accompaniments to the slap of flesh on flesh.

A sudden clatter of rain against the window outside made Jensen start and Jared cry out above him, driving wildly deeper. His erratic thrusts seemed to hit home and Jensen felt the white rush of pleasure sweep over him. They collapsed to the bed, chests heaving in tandem. It hurt when Jared freed himself from Jensen’s body but Jensen didn’t care. The ache seemed right. It should hurt. He’d broken all the rules he’d ever made for himself when he’d come to terms with what he was. The knowledge of that brewed like some vile poison in his mind despite the satisfaction in his bones.

The rain hit again, shaking the windows. Jared rolled over, careful on the narrow bed and lay back against the pillows, his hair sweaty from the earlier ride and his exertions here. A high red flush was painted on his cheeks and Jensen watched him look out at the rapidly darkening skies. Soon the sweat on his body would start to chill but for now he lay, flat, and let himself drink in the presence of the man beside him.

Jared stopped watching out of the window and looked down at Jensen. His chest had slowed to a more natural breathing and Jensen couldn’t help himself reaching out to touch. Jared’s chest was broad and strong and bore the muscles that could only come from a man who pushed himself to the limits of his endurance. Jensen felt soft and weak in comparison but Jared didn’t seem to care, arranging himself so Jensen could use one muscled shoulder as a pillow. There was something wrong in this tenderness, something that betoke more affection than he deserved. The kiss Jared dropped to his hair seemed to belong in this category too.

“Don’t leave us. We need you here.” The words were whispered but Jensen heard them like steeple bells chiming out Sunday worship. “Stay.”

“I’ll stay.” Jensen knew his promise came easily but he wondered if he would be able to keep it.

 

The ache in his body was still present the next morning. It made sitting on the wooden chairs at breakfast something of a hardship. He knew he should feel shame for the fact he’d help his employer break his marriage vows but there was an odd sort of pride. It was just him and James at breakfast as usual and Jensen took care to steer conversation to the innocent diversions of his walk and the fact he’d seen the stables. James latched onto the subject with enthusiasm, telling Jensen about the personality quirks of the horses. A shadow passed over James’ face, however, when he realised he wouldn’t be allowed to ride for some time yet.

Jensen wondered at that a little. Surely the boy had a practised enough seat to be able to hold his balance as the animal was led slowly along the level gravel paths. He started to plan the expedition in his head as they finished the last of their toast and made for the stairs. Jared was coming down, looking a little less the worse for wear than he normally did. Jensen was unsure what kind of thoughts might have passed during the night, what recriminations or guilt stalked the man in the dark hours before dawn. He needn’t have worried. Jared’s face lit up at the sight of them. He clattered down the last few steps in so precipitous a manner that Jensen worried for his own health for a moment.

Jared seized James under the arms and pulled him up to look him in the eyes. Awe spread across James’ face as Jared gave him a hearty, “Good morning.” Jensen smothered his smile in his sleeve, pretending to cough. There was a new lightness in the man and when Jared’s eyes sought Jensen’s over James’ shoulder, Jensen nodded.

“You are now to see your mother, young Padalecki. I came to see whether your old papa might intrude on your lunch? I have business in the village but it should not take me all morning.” Jared’s voice held a teasing note as he set James back down and held him steady while he retrieved the cane from where James had dropped it.

“Mr Ackles…” James began.

“It is your decision, James,” Jensen put in. He didn’t want to pressure the boy but any moments spent with Jared would be welcome to him.

James hugged his father in lieu of reply. Jensen smiled as Jared tousled his head and then followed them both up the stairs to that first landing. James headed towards his mother’s door, the maid hovering already. Jensen made to follow when Jared seized his arm. “I have a book you could use.”

Jensen followed Jared into the privacy of the well-stocked library. With the drapes flung open, the windows opened onto a glorious prospect of the park and the long drive. Jared would certainly know of any visitors that dared approach the grim old house. Jared shut the door behind him and the jovial façade he’d put up for James slid slightly. “My wife…”

“Will not hear anything from my lips.” That was a promise Jensen would keep eagerly. He daren’t reveal his true nature. They kept prison spaces for men like him, prisons he would not last long in.

“She’s been ill a long time. I thought it was that which drove me to… To your arms.” Jared was stalking closer, face serious. It wasn’t the dour stench of rejection. It was a desire to make Jensen understand. Jensen would accept that explanation. All his lovers had such explanations – his lips were so like a girl, his face womanish, there were no available girls… Even before he’d been forced to seek his fortune after his father’s death and debts, he’d had the idea of selling his ripe ass flung into his face by men he wanted to be more to him than a way to spend their seed.

Jared caught his chin, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I could have taken a mistress, A girl on one of the farms would have spread her legs for Mr Padalecki from the big house.” A second kiss followed fast on the heels of the first one. “I didn’t want a mistress, Jensen. I’ve dreamed of you every night since you stumbled into this room.”

Jensen let himself lean into the kiss, deepening it, delighting in the way Jared’s mouth parted under his, tongue sweeping in to plunder. He didn’t want to tell Jared that he had returned the feelings for nearly as long. Instead he let his body talk for him, pressing up eagerly against Jared.

They parted when they heard the scuff of footsteps outside. Jensen turned to examine the books piled on the desk beside the window while Jared went to the bookcase beside the fire. Mrs Smith tapped on the door before poking her head around. “Will you be wanting breakfast up here, sir?”

Jared smiled at her. “That sounds nice. Mr Ackles was just borrowing a book for Jamie. I’m going to lunch with them when I get back from the village.”

“Certainly, sir.” Mrs Smith shot a sharp look at Jensen before shutting the door. Jensen wondered if the fact he’d been kissing Jared was writ plain on his face but he didn’t dare put his hand to his lips until the door was closed firm behind her. Jared came to him with a bound volume in his hand, held it out and stole another kiss from Jensen when Jensen came close enough to take it.

“Tonight?” Jared asked while Jensen was still dazed from the kiss. “Can I see you tonight?”

Jensen nodded before heading to the door. He couldn’t stop himself drinking in one last lingering look at Jared, sweeping his eyes from the tips of his polished boots to the neat fitting coat. He couldn’t wait to get at what lay underneath again.

 

Jensen wasn’t quite sure what to do as he watched Jared drink half his usual amount of wine at dinner that night. James seemed enlivened, desperate to continue to impress his father. Their lunchtime repast had been marked by an ease and casualness that these dinners never seemed to have. Jared had regaled them with tales of his days at school. James had been a little subdued at that, after. He had asked Jensen when he might go back to school and whether Jensen would come with him. Jensen had shook his head at that, explaining that he was only there while James’ father thought he was doing a good job. Therefore James’ dinner conversation tried to show off all the things he had learned.

Jared laughed freely at his son’s attempts to impress, a sound none of them were accustomed to, not even the servants, who started at the noise. Even Jensen stared, although he was taking in the fine sweep of Jared’s throat, dreaming of nosing up it later, sucking at the Adam’s apple, licking along Jared’s jaw line. Jensen had to concentrate on his food for a moment to recover himself.

James headed off to say goodbye to his mother while Jensen sipped at the last of his wine. He wasn’t quite sure how to broach that evening’s assignation, especially not with Mrs Smith fussing around with the dishes. Jared seemed to have sunk into his own thoughts again, although he was staring at the brandy rather than tossing it back. His eyes sought Jensen’s over the rim of the glass full of intent and heat. Jensen nodded, imperceptibly, and, as he hoped, Jared caught the drift of his thoughts.

“I’m going to turn in early. Mr Ackles.” Jared bowed slightly as he took his leave. Jensen finished his wine and handed the glass over.

“Thank you, Mrs Smith.” She looked at him for a moment too long, and Jensen worried that she had picked up on the other meaning behind the looks he and Jared had shared over dinner.

Mrs Smith surprised him by taking a seat. She looked at him. “They seem happier, thank the Lord. Both of them.”

Jensen nodded, uncertainly. “James is a marvellous boy, especially since his strength is returning.”

“And the Master seems better too. Better than he’s been in quite some time.” Her eyes were sharp and Jensen begged his cheeks to remain pale and not colour. “It’s good to see.”

Jensen took that as a sign of approval for all he didn’t admit anything. “He must be pleased with James’ progress.”

Mrs Smith nodded again before rising as abruptly as she’d sat down. “Good night, Mr Ackles.”

Jensen rose to his own feet. “Good night, Mrs Smith.”

 

The soft knock at his door seemed to echo throughout the still house. Jensen was at the door in an instant, cursing the creaking hinges. Jared stood beyond, in his stocking feet, bearing a single candle. “Come with me?” he asked.

Jensen nodded, retracing his steps to his bedside to pick up the small jar of salve. This was unexpected but he followed Jared down a set of stairs he hadn’t climbed before. They were rough stone, uncarpeted, and cold on his bare feet. But their footsteps made no noise as they went down and through a wooden door. When Jensen looked back, it turned out to be part of the panelling in the hallway. His eyes danced when he looked at Jared. A veritable secret passage! Jared seemed to get his excitement before his eyes darkened. Jensen followed the light of his candle to a door that was a mirror to the one leading to Mrs Padalecki’s door.

As expected, the candle didn’t reveal much of the room beyond. Jared didn’t seem eager to give much of a tour, looking back to check Jensen was following as he opened a door leading into his inner sanctum. Jensen came close, almost trembling with excitement as he closed the door behind him. In an instant, Jared had him pinned against it, lips insistent at Jensen’s mouth, throat, jaw. Jensen was equally demanding, an entire day of temptation finally spilling over into eagerly parted lips and an embarrassingly needy noise as Jared pulled away to put down the candle and take Jensen in his arms. The urgency stoked to a low ember as Jared pulled the loose shirt over his head.

“I have wanted to kiss you all day today,” Jared told him, bare chest gleaming in the flickering light. “It was torture.” His hands were already working at his waistband.

“I need to be gone before the maid comes to lay the fire,” Jensen warned him, pulling free his own shirt. Jared nodded before reeling Jensen in. “But I am yours until the morning.”

“Mine?” Jared’s voice was wondering, almost worshipful. Jensen shuddering at the blasphemy let himself be drawn down into Jared’s arms, their naked limbs entangling on the bed. Their lovemaking was slow this time, the panic induced pressure from before gone. Instead they learned each other’s body and schooled the other in pleasures obviously long denied. Jensen came, muffling his shout into Jared’s shoulder, bestride him like Jensen would sit on the broad back of a horse.

There was none of the hurried dressing, the panicked recriminations of before. Instead they lay, hands languid against the other’s skin, eyes drinking in the minute passing of thoughts. Jensen’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, the low burn of the banked fire, the guttering flicker of the candle. The room was much as he had expected – dark panelled walls and the large windows that would look out over much the same view as his schoolroom covered with thick drapes. Jared’s bed was larger than his, comfortably so for the two of them. What Jensen should have predicted but had was still somewhat surprised by was the pile of books in various states of read by the bedside.

Jensen leaned forward to steal one more kiss from Jared’s lips. Jared was already drifting off to sleep and Jensen needed his own rest. He daren’t stay any longer for danger of sleeping himself. He could feel the insistent pull though. One more kiss beckoned. Jensen had the sudden thought that he would have to make it through the day without kissing or touching or giving any hint that he and Jared were more than employer and tutor. They might be friends though, perhaps.

“Come riding with me? Tomorrow?” Jared murmured as Jensen started to climb out of the bed.

“After James’ lesson?” Jensen shrugged into his clothes, watching Jared frown. “The weather will be our master, I fear.” He bent over the bed again, kissing Jared one more time before taking the candle from the bedside. It was still full dark outside and Jensen would have to trust that everyone was still abed. “Good night, my-“ Jensen cut off the words that sprung unbidden to his lips. “Good night, Jared.”

 

The weather was miserable, rain squalling again and again against fragile glass. If Jensen was expected Jared to be frustrated, he was somewhat disappointed. Jared lay on the school room floor, moving the tin soldiers to and fro as directed by James. Jensen knew he didn’t have to stay – he had letters of his own to finish – but he found himself drawn into the imaginary war, taking the side of the beleaguered British against the always victorious Americans. He hadn’t played much at toy soldiers as a child – he’d been rather more fond of books. James was probably a little old but to see his father and tutor rolling about on the floor, imitating the boom of cannon and the clash of swords, made it all worthwhile.

It was only the ringing of the bell from Mrs Padalecki’s rooms that put an end to their merriment. James had been meant to return to his mother’s side a full half hour before. Jensen took in his mulish expression but it was the words that Jared whispered in his ear that had him making his steady if slow progress down the stairs. Jared watched him go before closing the schoolroom door behind him and starting to help Jensen clear away the toys.

“The weather seems rather against us.” Jensen kept his face hidden as he dryly commented. He was startled by the feel of Jared’s hand on his cheek, turning Jensen into a kiss, a deep, consuming kiss.

“I’ve been tempted by your mouth all day,” Jared rasped out, lips swooping in for another kiss. Jensen let Jared push him back against the rug, lying back and accepting the plundering of his mouth with pleasure. He too had been imaging Jared’s body on top of his, lips pressed together, caught in his powerful arms. Jared’s embraces were something Jensen could soon become more than just accepting of: they could become an addiction, a need. He shifted his hips, brushing up against Jared’s rapidly hardening length, his own cock stirring in reply. The clatter of footsteps in the corridor outside was enough warning for them to separate, return to their previous occupation.

Mrs Smith’s eyes slid between them as she took in the two men collecting toy soldiers in silence. Jensen hoped his lips did not look as kiss bruised as he thought they might. They certainly retained the sense of Jared’s mouth, his lips, the passion restrained so as not to overwhelm every bit of Jensen’s heart, mind and soul. Finally she spoke.

“I was wondering whether to set tea in your library or bring it up here, sir.” Her voice was calm and polite, with an edge that spoke to curiosity or judgement.

Jared looked up at her. His face was a blank mask and Jensen finished gathering his section of the tin army, placing them back in their boxes. James would soon outgrow them, Jensen thought. He was on the cusp of becoming more of a man than a boy, a youth with his own passions and no time for childish toys. It was something of a wistful thought. Jensen had stopped trying to imagine himself here for any length of time. His decision to leave before anything could happen had been swept away but now he was in an even more dangerous position. He was now a mistress, under threat from discovery at any time.

“In the library, I think. Mr Ackles will be joining me.” Jared was commanding and sure and collected. Jensen wished he could have some of that ease but without the family connections and monetary security, much as polite people did not think of these things, he was doomed to be the one who had to wander.

Jensen liked the idea of tea with Jared. Another experience shared, bringing them closer. Jared smiled, a little forced, and Mrs Smith closed the door behind her. Jensen listened until her footsteps had made their way back to the stairs before he dared to look at Jared again. “This is dangerous.” Jensen blurted out the truth, much as it hurt.

Jared came close, closer than the warning warranted. He cupped Jensen’s cheek in one of his broad palms, drawing him into another kiss, this time gentle, barely more than a press of lips. “Jensen…” Jared sighed out his name. Then he turned to the windows and looked out at the rain. “Can you- A few more days. That’s all I ask. A few more days of feeling like there is a slightest possibility of happiness again? Then we can talk.”

Jared sounded so wrecked that Jensen couldn’t resist closing the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Jared and pulling him close. Jared rested his back against Jensen’s chest, relaxing in the embrace. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We do. We will. Just-“ Jared covered Jensen’s hands with both of his to hold them firmly in place. “Not just yet.”

Jensen brushed another kiss over Jared’s cheek, his ear. The very touch caused Jared to break free and hold Jensen close in his arms for a kiss that betrayed desperation and terror and, perhaps, just a little bit of hope.

 

The next day was fine enough for them to ride into the surrounding hills. The morning had not gone well – James had caught something of a chill and been slower than usual at the breakfast table. Jensen had noticed his fever bright cheeks and weary eyes and sent him to bed with a book after James had visited his mamma. James had protested, something Jensen found quite gratifying. He felt a little guilt, however, when Jared had suggested a ride. Perhaps his place was at James’ side, reading to him. James waved them off drowsily, already heading towards sleep when he realised his lessons could be postponed.

Jensen was mounted on a handsome chestnut he remembered as being called Dottie. He hoped that the name referred to the gathering of white spots on his mount’s hindquarters rather than a comment on her mental acuity. Jared rode Eric, the black horse carrying his height and bulk with ease. The distance between house and horizon was eaten up quickly and soon Jensen had the sense that they were both out of sight and out of mind of the rest of the household.

Jared kept riding, nothing more than a trot, pointing out sights to Jensen. They tended more towards the personal than the historical – the ruins of the original settlement were a place Jared had climbed as a child and broken his arm, the old Indian trail through the woods leading to the neighbouring estate and his friends. Jensen thought a little wistfully of James, alone in the house with no company his own age. Jared seemed to divine the path of his thoughts.

“I wish Jamie was well enough to come riding with us,” he said. “My boy was shaping up to be a fine horseman.”

“He does like animals. He told me something of each horses’ history when I told him I’d visited the stables with you.” Jensen smiled. It was a change to see Jared interested in his child.

“His fall seemed to have broken more than his leg. His spirit has not recovered.” A cloud passed over Jared’s face. “The doctor set his leg wrong. He- We did not know if he would walk again.”

Jensen brought Dottie closer so he could reach across the gap between them and lay a comforting palm on Jared’s arm. The grateful look he received in return warmed him and he nodded to show he understood Jared’s worries. Being the person Jared could perhaps unburden himself to made him feel like more than just a bedfellow.

 

They were high up in the hills by the time Jared reigned in Eric. The wind picked up, chilling Jensen’s cheeks and making his eyes water. He was glad Jared had chosen to draw the horses to a stop in the lea of a tree, sheltering them. Clouds swept across the bluest of skies, the tinge of winter still there for all that spring seemed truly begun in the green fields around them. Ploughing and sowing seemed the order of business of the farmers they’d waved to as they rode past.

Jared pointed to a small house – not much more than a turf roof and four walls. “That used to be my secret place.”

Jensen snorted at the childhood fancy before spurring Dottie towards it. “And what secrets does it hold.”

The house was cold and damp and not entirely pleasant inside. The door hadn’t been opened for quite some time but yielded to Jensen’s less than gentle persuasion. Jared caught up with him, stooping through the doorway before tying up the horses outside. He brought a thick blanket back with him and a satchel which he threw at Jensen. Looking inside, sandwiches and slices of Mrs Smith’s meat pie tempted Jensen’s appetite which had been sharpened by the exercise and fresh air.

Satisfied with his fussing, Jared sat down on the blanket, sprawling out. “No one should bother us here.”

Jensen felt want spark in his veins. He raised an eyebrow at Jared’s casual sprawl, running his eyes up and down his body before fixing on the rise of his cock. Jensen had chosen not to risk the night time trek to Jared’s bed and he felt his awakened desires make themselves known. Without even a touch, he could feel his cock hardening under Jared’s assessing, knowing eyes. He fumbled at the fastenings of his trousers, sighing a little at the brush of fingers on his sensitive skin. Jared mimicked his actions, exposing his heavy length, hard and erect now. Jensen’s mouth watered and he knew what he wanted to do.

Kneeling between Jared’s legs, Jensen leaned forward and kissed the salt sweat from Jared’s mouth. His own hand was busy on his cock as he kissed down Jared’s neck, tasting the cold air on his skin. Then Jensen bent, using his free arm to pinion Jared’s hips. The cries – the free, open, unfettered cries – that spilled from Jared’s lips were payment enough were it not for the way Jensen relished the stretch of his own lips, the threatening ache of his jaw and the heavy, strong taste of Jared in his mouth. An answering moan sent sensation running up and down Jared’s cock as Jensen began to suck.

Jared’s hand found its way to Jensen’s head, teasing at first before his fingers gripped hard. Jensen relished the edge of pain that came when Jared tugged, held him firm, made him near choke on the swelling heat. He fumbled at his own cock. The relief of pressure against his skin – even of his own hand – was all he needed for his own excitement to build. Jared’s lips were spilling filth mixed in with the moans. He ordered, commanded Jensen to suck, to take it deeper. Jensen tried to obey, pressing down hard with his free arm to control the aborted thrusts of Jared’s hips. The intensity of Jared’s final spill into his mouth made Jensen reach his own completion on the earthen floor of the tiny cottage.

They lay back on the blanket afterwards. It was different from their panicked exits from each other’s bedrooms in the dead of night. There was a lazy awareness that they’d need to return to the house at some point but now there was just the emptiness of the surrounding hills and the gentle whistle of the wind through the ill-closing door.

“Is that- Jensen, is that something only men do to each other?” Jared’s voice was awestruck, amazed.

Jensen laughed. “I cannot vouch for personal experience but I understand that women are quite fond of completing the act with their mouths too. As can a man with his wife.” Jensen let his hand drift over to cover Jared’s. He shifted around on the blanket so his head was pillowed on Jared’s shoulder. “A man can do a lot with his mouth.”

“My wife-“ Jared brought his arm around to hold Jensen close. “She and I were completely disinterested in each other and unaware of what the acts to be carried out in a marriage bed were to be.”

“Had you not…?” Jensen wasn’t quite sure how to delicately ask whether Jared had tumbled maids or visited whores. He found it difficult to believe Jared had married without the slightest inkling of what that entailed.

“I was shy. I am still shy.” Jared squeezed his arm. “I do not like people - I prefer books.” His words were blunt but his voice was soft and teasing. Jensen played with Jared’s hand, his fingers, letting his mind wander. “My wife was equally shy but she does not like books.”

“What does she like?” Jensen felt a strange disquiet at talking about the woman whose husband he was leading into temptation and helping break the most absolute of commandments.

“Nothing. Nothing that I know of.” Jared sounded unconcerned. “She gave me Jamie and nothing else. Not even conversation.”

A cloud passed over the empty window, leaving Jensen feeling chilled. He sat up and reassembled his clothing, straightening his waistcoat and shrugging his jacket back into place. Jared lay back, watching for a long moment. Then he sat up and kissed Jensen gently on the lips. “I never gave her anything other than Jamie either. I never even offered my heart. Not to her.”

Jensen took grim note of the tender look in Jared’s eyes. The words Jensen wanted to say, that he kept imprisoned behind his lips, seemed to float in the air between them. He returned Jared’s kiss, in silence. Jensen knew that the silence would not last forever, one way or another.

 

Other duties hindered their affair. Jared had to sit on the bench at the Assizes and all that entailed. Jensen had James to teach, although he seemed to be more of a general companion nowadays. James was ahead of most boys his age, a testament to the time he’d spent in bed convalescing and reading, but his physical strength was returning now. Movement was easier and his endurance for lessons and conversation was increasing seemingly daily.

Jensen started by taking James out into the fine spring weather. It was never exactly warm but bundling up in coats and scarves and staying out of the wind, they were both comfortable. Walking was difficult at first – the extra layers adding extra weight. James struggled into the sunshine at first just to satisfy Jensen’s wishes, eager to please. Soon the changing weather lured him out. Jensen noticed a perceptible change in James’ pallor and also in his demeanour. He was still as likely to lose himself in his books but he looked out at the clouds, the hills and the green fields in the distance when he was in the school room.

One particularly fine day, James tugged at Jensen’s arm, trying to ask permission to visit the stables without actually asking. Since Jensen had planned that their route would draw them there, he was happy enough to walk behind James, slowly, as he struggled with the uneven gravel. The cobbles also proved something of an inconvenience with the stick.

James’ limp was less pronounced now and Jensen could foresee a time when the boy was walking, if not perfectly, at least independently again. Jensen could also see a time when the boy would return to school and his services would no longer be required. Saddened as he would be, that event would at least remove him from the household and the temptation of Jared’s arms without arousing any scandalous gossip.

All thoughts of the future vanished when James passed through the stable doors and let out a contented sigh. The horses seemed equally eager to welcome the boy, hanging their long faces over the stalls. James patted at their noses, offering winter apples Jensen had begged from Mrs Smith, who had become a willing accomplice when she’d heard of Jensen’s plans. Her suspicions had eased with James’ increasing health.

“Can I ride one, Mr Ackles? Please?” James was patting at Dottie’s nose. Jensen knew that the horse was gentle and that the old fashioned saddle would be enough to hold the boy safe. He looked at the pleading eyes, so like his father’s, and gave in.

“Just around the yard today.” Jensen stifled James’ protests with a raised eyebrow. “We shall see how your seat has deteriorated without practice.”

The groom was quick to saddle up the horse and Jensen followed behind as Dottie clattered out into the yard. He’d lifted James into the saddle while the groom held the horse still and been happy to see the boy grip the horse with his legs. Once free of the door, Jensen came close to James and walked beside him, alert to any signs of tiredness or slipping. James, on the other hand, wasn’t worried. His eyes were bright and danced as he tried to beg them to let him go faster. Luckily, the placid horse seemed to be as immune to James’ exhortations as Jensen and the groom were. It plodded around the tiny yard, hooves echoing off the cobbles and Jensen saw his pupil as he must have been when he was fit and well.

Jared’s return at dinner time was almost anticlimactic, although the story of the ride became something tending towards epic adventure. Jared was happy to see his son, that much was apparent, and he seemed happy to see Jensen, eyes lingering over James’ head. After their meal, the bell from Mrs Padalecki’s rooms echoed around the house and James obediently trotted along the corridor. Jensen turned in the library with Jared, accepting the offered brandy.

“It is good to see you again,” Jensen ventured. “Returned safe, I mean.”

Jared nodded, eyes fixed on Jensen. Then he put the drink down and crossed the space between them in two long strides. Jensen braced himself by grabbing on to Jared’s arms, his strong biceps, as he was kissed rather forcibly. Jared’s desperation transmitted itself to Jensen and he plastered his body close, winding one hand around Jared’s neck to draw him even nearer. The danger of the situation – Jensen could hear the servants in the hallway – only seemed to add to the urgency.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Jensen fell back, falling into a seat. He lifted a book, a history of French kings and hid his face in it as Jared called for the person to enter. It was Mrs Padalecki’s maid, grim faced.

“Mrs Padalecki would like to speak to Mr Ackles, sir.” She bobbed a curtsey that was so slight that it was nearly just a flex of her knees. “She would like to see you too.”

Jared nodded, drained his glass, and settled his coat back into place by rolling his shoulders. Jensen placed his glass on the table, the book on the chair and followed in procession out of the room.

Mrs Padalecki was lying on her couch much as she’d been that first, and last, time Jensen had seen her. She was wearing a robe tied tightly over her nightclothes and a blanket once more covered her legs. Her grip on James’ hand was anything but frail and weak. She was holding on so tightly that his skin was white around her fingers.

“Mr Ackles.” Her voice was cold as she acknowledged him. She didn’t speak to her husband, merely sending a glare in his direction. “I understand James went for a ride today.”

“Around the stable yard, yes, ma’am.” Jensen was polite, firm and followed up his words with a reassuring smile. Mrs Padalecki was not reassured.

“He has been injured. He must not ride.” James looked at his mamma with sorrowful eyes but she took no heed. “He must rest. He should not leave the house, indeed.”

“Ma’am, I can assure you-“ Jensen started to protest but his calm words were overridden by Jared.

“He’s a boy. Let him be a boy. And he’s on the mend and he needs to be out there again, riding, walking. Even climbing trees.” Jared’s voice held an edge of something Jensen could only call cruelty. He wanted to hurt this woman. He turned, a little in shock, to look at Jared reproachfully. Jared’s shoulders were heaving as if he was containing the worst of his anger and his hands were clenched fists at his side. “He’s no invalid.” The final phrase “Like you” hung unspoken in the air.

Jensen nodded a goodbye then held out his hand to James. James took it, supporting himself on Jensen’s arm until they were out of the room. He clung on as they made their way along the hallway to James’ rooms. “I hate it when they fight,” the boy admitted, as he made his way slowly across the floor to his bed. Jensen knew he should call for a servant but instead he knelt and started to untie the boy’s boot laces as James worked the knot on his tie loose. Soon enough the boy was ready for bed, unshed tears still wobbling behind his eyes.

It took all Jensen had not to drop a kiss on the boy’s forehead. That would be a step too far. Instead he ruffled the boy’s hair and offered him the open book from the bedside. James shook his head in refusal, turning so his back was to Jensen.

“It will all work out, James.” Jensen said. He knew it was cold comfort to the boy, but didn’t know what else to say. He closed the door behind him, heart heavy, to see Jared in the library beside the fire, legs sprawled in front of him and a full glass of brandy in his hand.

Jensen hesitated in the doorway, unsure and uncertain of his welcome. Jared seemed to have slipped back into the mood Jensen had met him in, the very first day he’d arrived at the house. Jared was anger and frustration, no longer lover or friend. He looked up at Jensen, eyes dark and mouth pinched tight. He didn’t break eye contact until he’d swallowed the contents of the glass.

Then he threw the glass at the fireplace.

The shattering of the glass made Jensen shudder. The firelight caught the broken glass on the rug, glinting off shards and dancing in the reflection of the bigger pieces. He was torn – part of him wanted to run to Jared, fall to his knees in front of him and offer him whatever comfort he could give while the other part was concerned about the servants, the fact James was awake across the hallway and Mrs Padalecki a few doors down. After hovering for another long minute, drinking in the clench of Jared’s jaw, the way his fists were clenched against his thighs, Jensen gave in to temptation. He stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“James was upset. He seems quieter now.” Jensen crossed the floor, stopping a few feet from Jared. From here he could see the shuddering rise and fall of Jared’s shoulders. It took everything he could not to lay his hand on them, to soothe and quiet.

Jared looked up, pain now warring with anger in his eyes. “She would keep him sick. Keep him here.”

“I know.” Jensen gave into the temptation to lean forward and gently sweep his hand over the straining material on Jared’s arm. Jared brought his own hand up to capture it, hold Jensen tight. “James knows it too.”

“I want him to be well,” Jared said. “I would do nothing-“

“I know.” The gentle repetition seemed to sink in. The tightness in Jared’s body drained away and all the fight disappeared. Anguish took over, an implacable sadness. Jensen couldn’t look away. “You only want the best for him.”

“Not entirely.” A laugh devoid of humour, a dry chuckle fought its way out of Jared’s throat. “I don’t want him to go back to school. Because if he goes…” Jared trailed off, drinking in Jensen’s face with his eyes. Jared shifted forward in his chair, ignoring the way it squeaked until his bulk. He came closer to Jensen, eyes drifted down Jensen’s chest to land at eye height – Jensen’s midriff – and then lower, to the bulge in Jensen’s crotch. Jared’s mouth parted, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips.

Jensen pulled his hand free and stepped away, breathing deeply to regain his control. Not a moment too soon as Mrs Smith knocked the door and opened it without waiting. She held a brush and pan in her hands, nodded at Jared, looked at Jensen sharply and then made her way to the fireplace. Jensen stood awkwardly for a moment .

“Good night, Mr Padalecki. Good night, Mrs Smith.” Jensen caught Jared’s eye before he stepped out of the room, trying to convey his acquiescence. No matter the risk, Jensen wanted him to seek solace. Jensen could give him that.

Jared didn’t wake him during the night.

 

James was subdued at breakfast and even more subdued when Jared did not appear as had become his custom. Jensen followed him silently up the stairs, unsure of how to approach the idea rumbling around in his mind. He focused on lessons when James made his way to the schoolroom, moving no less ably than the day before. His ride had done him no harm, that much was clear. James sighed his way through his lessons, half-heartedly scratching at his slate.

Mrs Smith brought their lunch herself. The tray had three cups set on it but Jared did not come through the door. Instead Jensen offered a cup silently to Mrs Smith and she sat down beside Jensen and started discussing the planting of the kitchen garden. She was talking about potato types when Jared came into the room. He was moving quietly, so James did not see him at first. Jensen watched him from under his eyelashes. Jared looked worn, dark circles betraying a restless night or perhaps too much brandy. He smiled, wanly, when he caught Jensen looking before coughing to attract the attention of the others.

“Any coffee for me?” Jared kept his voice light. Jensen stood up, offering his seat, while Mrs Smith refilled James’ cup and handed it over when Jared sat down. “That’s very nice. Thank you.”

James opened and closed his mouth a few times. He was obviously working up to asking a question. Jensen nodded encouragingly. “Father…?”

“Yes.” Jared bit down on a sandwich.

“Am I not allowed to ride?” The words came out in a rush.

Jared wrinkled his nose but finished his sandwich before he answered. “I would suggest some caution. Perhaps enjoy walking in the sunshine to build up your strength?” Jared hesitated. “Or you could ride with me? Like we used to do on Eric before you became old enough.”

Jensen fought the urge to beam. It was a good solution. James would get to enjoy his riding and Jared would keep him safe. He coughed, to hide his pleasure, before answering. “That can only happen if James completes his lessons.”

James looked at him, begging apparent in his frantic look. Jensen smiled and nodded. He looked at Jared who was a little smug and then caught sight of Mrs Smith’s expression. She was attempting to hide her discomfort but her eyes darted between Jared and Jensen and her hands were clutched tight in her apron. She stood up, gathering the lunch things in order to disguise her thoughts. Jensen busied himself too, replacing books on the small schoolroom bookcase. Jared and James were now making arrangements for their ride.

 

James rushed through the rest of his lessons, eager to be gone. Jensen didn’t have the heart to keep him long and followed him down through the house and out into the fresh air. Their progress was as careful as it had been but James seemed ever more eager to get to the horses. Jared was waiting for them, the reins for Dottie and Eric held loosely in his hand. He was talking to the groom, absently stroking Eric’s nose. Jensen took the time their slow progress afforded him to admire Jared’s figure in his riding outfit. He felt himself blush when Jared caught the direction of his look.

“Will you hand James up to me, Kelly?” Jared sung himself up in the saddle with an elegant economy of movement. He settled James in front of him, holding him securely with an arm tight around his waist. Jensen came over to help Jared arrange the reins before stepping back.

Jared smiled at him. “Kelly will help you up too.”

Jensen suddenly realised that he was to accompany them. He’d presumed the groom would be going with them. Instead he mounted on the gentle horse, settling in comfortably and then following Eric and his passengers out of the stable yard and off across the park. Jared had kept the horse at a walk and was chatting to James as Jensen followed in their wake. It seemed a perfect solution to the problem and James was alive in the fresh air, cheeks glowing as his father showed him exactly how much he cared.

When they returned to the house, James was starting to look tired. With his father’s support, they’d ridden for a few hours in the fresh air. It was not yet warm, exactly, despite their bundled up clothes and Jensen hoped the boy would be amenable to staying indoors tomorrow. The gathering clouds promised rain, if Jensen looked critically the sky, and the wind was picking up.

Mrs Smith was waiting for the three of them. Her neutral expression softened in the face of James’ excitement and she helped him back into the house. His mother had been calling for him. Jensen surmised that the woman would not have been happy to be told exactly where her son was. Jared sighed as he watched them go then led Eric into the stables. The groom was not around, something that surprised Jensen, but the other horses showed signs of being fed and brushed recently so he thought nothing of it as he unsaddled Dottie and manoeuvred the horse into her stall.

Jared and he worked in silence – a comfortable silence, both tired by the ride and the sleepless night that had preceded it. Dottie was quiet under his hands, nudging him to direct him to the areas she wanted brushed and scratched. As she was much more petite than the monster Jared rode, Jensen finished sooner before forking the hay out of the loft for both animals. He would need to bathe before dinner, no doubt, but the look of affection in Jared’s eyes when he came to claim the fork was restitution indeed. Jensen reached up and brushed a lock of hair behind Jared’s ear. The helpful adjustment soon became more of a caress, as Jensen drew Jared toward him and met his lips with a soft kiss.

A gasp behind them made him turn. James stood in the doorway, mouth open. “I… Mama wanted me to have dinner with her.” He stuttered the words out as Jensen hastily stepped away from Jared. He knew his face was red and Jared looked equally shocked and dismayed as James turned and made his way from the stable yard as quickly as he could. Jensen was frozen in place but Jared seemed to recover himself, striding out without a word. A cry from James released Jensen from his paralysis. He ran out of the stable to see Jared helping James up from the uneven cobbles. The boy pushed at him, fighting the support. Jared dropped his hands, stepped back and let James continue on to the kitchen door which stood open, casting the warm light from the house onto the darkening yard.

Jensen turned to Jared but Jared refused to meet his eyes, looking instead at the small figure of his son. Jensen’s heart clenched and he turned rather than betray his feelings. He collected his coat from the stable and, when he returned, Jared was gone.

 

Soon enough, Jensen found himself in his room, looking at his belongings and debating packing them up. White hot shame wracked him. He should never have kissed Jared, not just in the stables where anyone could see but ever. He was breaking laws of his own as well as those of God and the country. For all that he had made his peace with what he was and how he took his pleasures, he was once more reminded that he was endangering his family, Jared’s family, his reputation and his livelihood all in one fell swoop.

With this chilling realisation, Jensen tugged his overnight bag down from the top of the wardrobe. He could pack a few changes of clothes, some essentials, and have Mrs Smith send the rest to him at her earliest convenience. He could excuse himself by claiming family illness. Jensen’s mind whirled with plans, his mind quite disordered, so much so that he did not hear the soft knock on the door and turned in panic when the door was opened to reveal Jared.

Jared’s generous mouth was drawn tight in pain. He looked at Jensen and some of the fight vanished. Jared’s shoulders drooped and he softly closed the door behind him. There was a pause and then he locked the door too. Another step forward and he was wrapping his arms tight around Jensen.

“I spoke to James.” The words were muffled against Jensen’s hair but he could make them out. “He will not say anything…”

“Now. He will keep his promise for now. But it would be best for me to go.” Jensen kept Jared tight so he could not see the pain the words were causing him. “I can be on the coach to New York in the morning.”

Jared dropped his arms, stepped away. “I don’t understand.”

Jensen opened his mouth to explain. He couldn’t summon the words and snapped his mouth closed again. It didn’t really matter whether Jared understood or not. What mattered was the preservation of the little tatter of honour Jensen had left. Instead he crossed the space between them and held Jared close. He drew comfort from his warmth, from the smell of his sweat and his skin. Jensen did not know the next time he would be able to experience this, did not know the next time he’d be able to hold a man, let alone the man he had come to… He had come to love. Jensen forced his mind to complete the thought, although he occupied his mouth with Jared’s throat, his jaw. The kisses became frantic and wanting.

“I’ll leave, early.” Jensen told him, tearing himself away. “But one more night?”

Jared nodded, reoccupying Jensen’s mouth as if he needed to take all he could before Jensen was gone. Jensen could understand the urge and kissed back with as much fervour.

Jared seemed determined to go slow after that. He took his time in opening Jensen up, stroking thigh and belly and kissing the path his hand took. Jensen was drenched in sweat and close to begging as Jared pushed in slowly, kissing Jensen until he was ready for Jared to move. The tenderness and care were apparent as Jared held Jensen close. It was almost too much, too intimate. Jensen fought with himself – he should merely allow himself to be swept away by sensation, to close his eyes and just feel. On the other hand, he wanted to watch Jared fall apart above him, watch him take solace in Jensen’s body and imagine it could always be this way.

Jared had his eyes fixed on Jensen’s. It should have been humorous, almost ridiculous, the way his teeth were biting at his lip in concentration as he fucked into Jensen but instead Jensen thought that the sight was one on par with the great sculptures of Italy. He wanted the image to always be engraved in his memory. Jared kissed him again, tender and soft, and Jensen finally gave in to the pull of pleasure and came, hard, slick between their bellies.

His surrender seemed to trigger Jared’s. Jared thrust into him a few more, erratic times before spilling deep within, kissing Jensen through it all. Finally they separated, collapsing on the bed and holding the other close, hands doing the desperate work that words could not.

 

James’ eyes were accusing over breakfast. Jensen had not even been sure he would be there but Jensen was somewhat glad that routine seemed to be in place.

“I have to go back home,” Jensen told him, unwilling to take the pressure of that judgemental look anymore. James let out a soft sound but fixed his gaze on his plate and silence returned, heavy and oppressive. Jensen hovered awkwardly when they were done, unsure of what to say.

“Do you love my father?” James asked, softly, eyes still on the uneaten food in front of him.

Jensen closed the door, worried about ears that might make life difficult for Jared after he had gone. “Why do you ask that?”

“You were kissing them. That’s what people do when they love someone.” James looked up. His lip was trembling slightly and his eyes were glassy now.

“They do. But boys aren’t… Men aren’t…” Jensen didn’t know how to explain. “Your father is still married to your mother.”

James nodded, once, sharply. The firm line of his mouth – so like his father – showed his understanding. Jensen hesitated and then reached out, running his hand over the boy’s hair. He closed the door behind him when he left, leaning against it for a long moment. It took all he had to gather his strength and walk away.

 

They were back in front of the fireplace in his mother’s house, Kane drinking his glass of brandy and Jensen ignoring his.

“Why did you come back this time?” Kane was drunk enough for the veneer of politeness to finally drop and the question to be asked.

“The boy was ready to go back to school.” Jensen had repeated that to himself so often that it almost felt true. “I wasn’t needed any more.”

“You seem… a little sad.” Kane was trying, in his bluff, coarse way to be a sympathetic friend. Jensen wondered, even, if his mother or sister had asked him to intervene. He’d spent much of the time since he returned in his rooms, coming out only for meals, despite the myriad of invitations and the fine spring weather. His recent wages had gone quite some way towards returning the family once more to a more stable financial situation and suitors were starting to circulate. Their name was respectable enough, Jensen supposed, and immediately felt guilt at the way he’d sullied it. He hoped the dim lighting hid his embarrassment at the thought.

“I like the country.” Kane seemed to understand that Jensen was an impenetrable fortress, unlikely to be swayed by words and gave up the line of questioning, talking instead about a new horse he was thinking of buying. Jensen drove his mind away from his own recent memories of riding and focused on Kane’s words until the clock struck a late hour and Kane made his goodbyes. After Kane had left, and he no longer had to guard his tongue against anyone, Jensen drained the glass he’d ignored until now.

He’d expected the pain of separation to fade, given time and fresh company. Instead everywhere he went, everyone he met, every sight he saw, even, reminded him of Jared, of James, of the old grand faded house up north and the pain settled deeper and stronger than before. The burn of the alcohol could not dislodge it and Jensen contemplated smashing the glass against the grate. It might make him feel better, to destroy something else as thoroughly as he had destroyed his own happiness. In the end, he stared into the fire until the maid came to bank it for the night, working his way through the bottle until he was drunk enough to sleep and not dream.

 

Jensen’s mother had the determined look of a woman engaged on a mission of high importance the next morning, when he dragged his aching head out of bed and into the parlour. Jensen waved away the offer of food but took the hot sweet coffeefrom the maid. He had bathed but it had not done much to restore his faculties. Indeed, the room swam in a most displeasing and nauseating fashion if Jensen moved his head too quickly. It made him suddenly sympathise with Jared and the memory of the man made the black void inside him swirl unpleasantly again.

“You need some new form of employment,” his mother said, eyeing him disapprovingly. “Tutoring does not seem to agree with your constitution.”

“I liked it,” Jensen said. “The parents were ever the problem.”

His mother did not take the hint. “I have recently had a letter enquiring if you might be available to provide companionship on a trip through Europe.” Jensen looked up at this. His mother did not appear to be inventing a polite fiction. “The gentleman apologised for writing to me most prettily. He said he did not want to pull you from another position if you had moved on but that he had no other address at which to reach you.”

Jensen nodded, dully. He wasn’t really able to follow what his mother was saying as she chattered on about handwriting and notepaper and a dozen inconsequential details. He tuned in when one phrase penetrated his surrounding fog. “It’s so nice that one of your employers should think so highly of you.”

“Mother, who exactly is offering me a job?” Jensen kept his voice as quiet as he could so as not to exacerbate his headache.

“That nice Mr Padalecki. I wish you would listen to me, Jensen. He writes to say he wants to spend some time on the continent and wants you to accompany him, now that his son is settled at school.” His mother was holding a piece of paper out towards him. Jensen tried not to be too eager and snatch it.

It was Jared’s handwriting all right. He’d obviously taken care over the notes as the letters were carefully formed. Jensen scanned it speedily, resisting the urge to stroke his fingertips over the places where Jared must have touched the page. He would have smiled at his foolishness were his mother not watching closely. His mother had the right of it. James was at school and Jared was taking a trip to England, to France, Italy and Greece and parts beyond. He enquired if Jensen was employed elsewhere – reading between the lines, Jensen could interpret this as being involved elsewhere, a question as the whether his feelings for Jared remained the same.

Jensen was already wondering if his set of reliable trunks would be last for such an arduous trip. Then he read the rest of the letter. “He’s in New York.” It was hard to hide his astonishment.

“I shall invite him to tea this afternoon.” She was already ringing the bell for the maid and Jensen couldn’t quite contain his wince. “If you think you will be recovered enough for polite society.”

Jensen fixed her with a baleful stare. To see Jared again? Why, he’d walk barefoot through coals.

 

Jared was as tall as Jensen had remembered but he looked… Older, somehow? His eyes were cloudy, less dancing, and there seemed to be new, serious lines etched on his face. His skin was pale, despite the hot heat of summer in the city and his clothes hung off his bones. Even his hair looked dull. Jensen wished with all his heart that his mother would find some business elsewhere so he could take Jared into his arms and have him tell him about everything that had happened.

Jared brightened to see Jensen, although he continued to behave in a most reserved manner, explaining that his trip was for his health as much as anything. “I might spend some time in the Alps, to restore my lungs. The damp spring left me ill.” Jensen tried not to let the sudden panic show in his face, sipping his drink to cover his worry. “My wife also thought I should travel. I married her very young and did not explore much as a boy.”

Jensen nodded as his mother asked her questions and Jared responded. Jensen didn’t speak much but he took in every word, drinking in the sound of Jared’s voice like a man finding water in the desert. There was a soft knock at the door and his sister came into the room. “Sorry to intrude, mother. But I must ask your opinion on this dress.” His sister was simpering slightly, something Jensen hadn’t seen in her before. He looked warily at her and was unsurprised to see her roll her eyes at him as their mother bustled out of the room, the maid trailing after her.

In the next moment, Jared was in Jensen’s arms. They kissed, wonderingly, throats too tight for words and held on to each other. A clatter in the hallway split them apart and they returned to their seats, eyes never leaving the other.

“Have you seen much in New York? The theatre?” Jensen enquired, within the bounds of propriety, as his mother re-entered the room, looking a little harried. That one touch seemed to have set every nerve in Jensen’s body alight and yet also soothed some deep urge, some impossible hunger.

Jared shook his head. “I’ve mainly been engaged in business. Seeing the lawyers.” The words had some significance that Jensen could not yet make out. The clock chimed and Jared seemed to realise that it was time for Jared to go.

They hovered in the hallway after Jared had made his goodbyes. Jensen didn’t want to let him leave. He wanted to offer dinner, a club, a trip to the theatre. They could do that as friends. No one would talk.

Jared leaned close. “What do you think of my trip? We could be away some time?” He had to keep his words circumspect, but there was already some of the warm clarity creeping back into his eyes, that fond regard. 

Jensen nodded. “We should meet tomorrow and plan it out.” What Jensen could not say and tried to convey with his overlong handshake was that he’d follow Jared wherever he led. “It has been too long since we spoke.”

It was in the wicked grin that Jared sent him as he settled his hat on his head that Jensen caught sight of the man he’d fallen in love with and knew that his message had been understood. “Until tomorrow.”

The promise of tomorrow and then the next day and the weeks and months to come sent a warm glow throughout Jensen. He let the man show Jared out and slipped away to his room. He had planning of his own to do.

 

Epilogue  
Santorini

Jensen sat on the edge of the pier in what he’d come to think of as his gypsy clothes – worn trousers, a loose shirt and a battered hat so out of shape it didn’t look like much of anything anymore. His feet were bare as he dangled them in the water. A book lay discarded beside him and he watched the play of light over the blue water. He would never have believed that the sea could be this colour – steel grey, ice blue, yes. But not this sparkling turquoise. He’d come out to enjoy the sunrise and the day before the heat became too much for his delicate American constitution and he retreated to the shade. Jensen wasn’t even thinking of much, enjoying the sun and the sound of the water. He was almost alone on this deserted part of the island.

He had left Jared asleep, splayed out in white sheets in the only bed in the tiny cottage they had rented. That saved awkward conversations about unsullied sheets that they’d avoided in some of the places they’d stayed in. Instead he was – finally – allowed to wake with the man he loved.

As if summoned by these thoughts, Jared sat down on the pier beside him, one leg dangling down into the water and the other providing a prop for Jensen’s back as he leaned back for a soft kiss. “Catching our supper?” Jared asked.

“Just seeing some daylight,” Jensen retorted. His adventures into fishing had not been a success of any kind. He leaned into the warmth of Jared’s body. A sea gull wheeling high overhead was the only sound other than the lap of waves against the pier and the soft breathing from Jared. He was still sleep warm, a furnace against Jensen’s side. A frisson of excitement ran up his spine at their daring openness, the way they were casually holding each other out here, in the open. Jared broke the spell with a low groan.

“Breakfast, Jensen,” he whined, nuzzling into Jensen’s neck. “I’m hungry.”

At the reminder, Jensen’s own stomach rolled with its own hunger. He remembered what Jared and he had done to drain so much energy. He stood, holding his hand out to steady Jared as he clambered to his feet. It wouldn’t do for him to fall into the Aegean again. “We should walk to the town today. There might be letters for us. And we should buy some more tomatoes.” Jared slung his arm over his shoulder and drew him back towards the tiny lime-wash building that was all they needed.

“After breakfast,” Jared reminded him. Then he laughed, at nothing. His laugh echoed across the water and Jensen felt another surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the sun starting to beat down on his neck. Breakfast and maybe he’d tempt Jared back to bed. His wanton thoughts brought a wicked grin to his face. Jared’s answering grin suggested he’d be amenable to that idea.

They started running towards the open door.


End file.
